


Lights

by Iron



Series: TFCon Commissions [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron/pseuds/Iron
Summary: Minimus gifts Megatron something in the wake of the Lost Light celebrating the holiday season.
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus| Ultra Magnus, Megatron/Ultra Magnus
Series: TFCon Commissions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566976
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Lights

**Author's Note:**

> For @spaceweeb on Twitter. Hope you enjoy! Check me out at @fab_roddy on Twitter

Megatron watches Minimus as he steps out from the bridge and back to his office, smiling helplessly. There’s a hop to his step now, a lightness that makes something warm rise in his chest. He watches him until someone calls his name and he’s disappeared into the hallway. 

Blaster nudges his shoulder as he heads back to his station, laughing. “He only came in to pass off reports to me. You don’t need to look at him like he hung the stars every time he comes in.” 

He gestures to the decorations on the bridge, the bright string lights and flimsy cut outs in over saturated colors, gold foil stars spinning on strings. “Didn’t he?” 

The mechs on the bridge collectively roll their optics, already used to him. The conjux ceremony itself had been, in Rodimus’ words, sickeningly sweet. Megatron had written poetry across his own plating declaring how much he loved him, in sweeping lines that he’d not washed off for weeks. He’d turned himself into a declaration of love. 

He’s overseeing the bridge while the rest of the ship is quietly taking down the decorations that had been put up for the holiday season, and the mechs on duty are almost solemn. The season had been bright, mechs sharing traditions built during the war and from before, and it had been a happy, if slightly manic, break from the usual adventures. Minimus had ordered their removal promptly after the cessation of the season’s celebrations, however, and Megatron knows some mechs were relieved for the return to normal. 

He is one of those, in some ways. None of these traditions were his traditions, and the world they’d recreated in the ship wasn’t one he’d recognized or felt comfortable with. There was beauty in it, of course, and in some way he had enjoyed being surrounded by a beauty made by the hands of his crew mates, but he’d always preferred the quiet enjoyment of sterile spaces. 

Minimus knows this and has always shared the same preference for it. Their hab was a haven of stillness amidst the chaos of the ship, a place of escape and relaxation, an oasis that they both seek out for the same sort of comforts. 

The lights strung through their hab throw up splashes of bright colors, turning the grey interior to something almost festive, is therefore a surprise. Megatron reaches up to brush aside one of the hanging loops, ducking despite the top of his helm coming nowhere near them. Minimus would be too stringent in his measuring to have allowed that; like everything else in the hab, the decorations are perfectly suited to both of their heights. 

He eyes his conjux perched on the edge of their shared berth, optics following the way the lights outline every lovely curve of his small frame. “This was unexpected. Are we celebrating something?” 

Minimus turns his helm away, fingers curling into their berth covers as his spine curves with something like the weight of shame on his shoulders. “I ... you don’t understand the reference I was making? I was told this would be romantic.” Of course Minimus would look so hesitant; it’s rare he do something so sweetly sudden and unexpected as this, and Megatron knows well the way he’s been built to think of his efforts when they fall short of their goal. Failure had never been an option for him. 

There is a moment’s hesitation before Megatron is taking to long steps to fall to his knees in front of Minimus, hands on his thighs, gentle, thumbs rubbing against the tops of his shins. “It’s okay. It’s beautiful. What you made for me was beautiful, even if I don’t understand why you did it. Tell me?” 

“It was brought to my attention a few days ago, when the ship’s decorations were being removed after the holidays. Rung reminded me of one of your poems.” 

Megatron doesn’t know which one he would be talking of; none of his political pieces had ever mentioned anything beautiful in them, anything so fanciful ads colored lights. Still, right now he can’t deny that they are beautiful, and that they shine off of Minimus’ cheeks in such a way as to make him want to kiss him. So he does, pressing his mouth as soft as moonmoth’s wings to the supple plating of his face. “Remind me of what I’d written.” _When I was a better man._

Minimus turns his face up into every gentle pass of his lips, soaking in the attention. “I don’t remember the words exactly. My apologies if I don’t repeat it exactly as it was written.” 

“However you speak them is how it was meant to be spoken.” 

He clears his throat quietly, antennae twitching back and forth. “I will take you in my hands, and we will rise from the sundered earth. Our home will be of stars, soaked in a multitudes of colors.” His voice is hesitant as he forms each carefully enunciated syllable. “It’s the only part either of us could accurately remember.” 

Megatron feels the words _pick pick pick_ at his mind, but he doesn’t remember writing them. They’re a shadow in him mind, a memory of some happier time. Strange that the mines could be considered a time where he was once happy. He must have written it for Terminus, so long ago. A dream of a home when he still had the spark for such folly. A dream that Minimus had brought into reality for him. 

The lights strung around their hab seem all the bright for the thought put into them, and he pulls Minimus into his arms. He surrounds his conjux, cradles him, as the fairy lights wash them both in rainbows. “Thank you, my dearest.” He holds him close, until the strong bridge of his nose is pressed against the underside of his audial, inhaling to scent of his regulation polish. No frills, no muss. He’s never needed fancy polish to be handsome. “You don’t need to make a fantasy for me. Our reality is beautiful.” 

His conjux slips fingers into the seams below Megatron’s broad shoulders and clings there, small and perfectly formed, and Megatron whispers sweetly against his helm as his spark is taken by the adoration that suddenly fills his chest, soft and unbreakable as steel silk. “You’ve made for me a world of stars, crafted a home in the midst of the endless dark, brought from forgotten memories a brighter future.” He purrs his engine, softly, feels the rough idea of an unrealized poem form in him. And then, simple, plain. Something he could never mistake for anything else. “I love you.” 

Megatron presses his conjux into their berth and whispers his love against his spark, his gift bathing them both in dreams and light. Minimus opens for him, beautiful and soft, and they come together like two stars pulling into orbit with each other. Green and green and it mingles, burning shadows into their hab, chasing away dark thoughts and dark pasts, until all that’s left if both of them, together, in a present so perfect it feels almost like a dream.


End file.
